Annabelle Holmes
by Voldy's Worst Nightmare
Summary: Sherlock Holmes's sister comes to London to drag Holmes out of withdrawal after the Blackwood case. Mary Watson's life is threatened and a respectable woman is found drugged and murdered in a ditch. Looks like Holmes has a case and his sister is helping.
1. Chapter 1

Annabelle Holmes

Chapter 1; Annabelle arrives in London and a murder is committed

**Disclaimer: Mira owns Holmes. Deannie owns Watson… I think… I can't remember which way round it is. Anyway; the point is I own neither of those fine gentlemen; I am merely borrowing them for the purposes of my fic. Also, Annabelle Holmes is a character of my invention, I am fully aware that Holmes has a brother named Mycroft, or however it is you're meant to spell it, but there is no mention of a sister. Ignore this fact for the moment and pretend that his sister, having met Doctor Watson only once, has recently come to London on aforementioned Doctor's request because Holmes is being depressive again. This is what happens when a high-spirited slightly younger sister, a concerned friend, several attempted murders and a couple of successful ones are thrust into Holmes's lap.**

**Also, (this is my slightly weird mental maths skills) having discovered the birthdates of Holmes and Watson, and subtracted them from when the characters first appeared, I have come to the conclusion that Holmes is 33 and Watson is 35, so Annabelle, who is Sherlock's older sister, is 34. Also, I would like to add that evidently Watson bears his age better than Holmes, who looks a lot older.**

…

_Miss A Holmes,_

_Chilton House,_

_Hampshire_

_Miss Holmes,_

_I understand that this may seem unusual, but I must ask a favour of you._

_As you know, I recently vacated my residence at 221 Baker Street, and I am worried that your brother, Sherlock Holmes, appears to be suffering from some kind of depression (I suspect that this is because he is in want of a case) and I cannot go to visit; I am currently overwhelmed with clients and am spending most of my free time with my wife, Mary._

_The favour I ask is for you to come to London, pay your brother a visit and, if possible, persuade him to end his depression._

_I have every faith that you will succeed, having seen your methods first hand._

_Anxiously awaiting your reply,_

_John Watson (Doctor)_

_Doctor J. Watson_

_34 London Road_

_London_

_John,_

_It is, as always, wonderful to hear from you, what with your usual busy schedule of doctoring, investigating and getting into trouble because of Sherlock. I have to admit I'm not surprised by his behaviour; he always was an adrenaline addict._

_You have always been and will always be the best friend any person could possibly wish for. I understand that you are worried about my brother, so of course I will come to London and see if I can put things to rights._

_You're married? Congratulations! I hope you and your wife have many happy years together. I hope I can find something that could act as a belated wedding present!_

_Yes, my rather eccentric little brother did inform me of your departure, although he referred to it as "Desertion," but he failed to mention that you have recently been married – he probably didn't want me to visit to congratulate you._

_I will be in London within the next week._

_Perhaps we could arrange a meeting so we can catch up with each other?_

_Until next week,_

_Annabelle Holmes_

…

Holmes woke, groggy and disoriented, to hear voiced outside his door.

"…Daren't go in by myself, ma'am, not when he's in this mood…"

"I quite understand, Mrs Hudson," The second voice was one Holmes knew all too well.

Before he could hide under his bed or behind the curtain, the door was flung open and a young woman with pale skin, dark brown eyes and black hair, hidden expertly within a small and stylish hat, entered the room.

"Sherlock," she sighed, walking in and flinging open the curtains and windows, causing the great detective to flinch, "You need to open these windows every once in a while, you're making the whole room stink,"

"What are you doing here?" he grumbled.

"Your friend Doctor Watson," the woman replied, "Asked me to pay you a visit, owing to your drug habits, which evidently worsen when you don't have a case to work on. Naturally I accepted; it's been a while since I saw my little brother," she grinned, the classic Holmes mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Annabelle –"

"It's alright, Doctor Watson managed to organise some rooms for me in the hotel a few streets away," Annabelle replied, "And I expect you to clean up while I'm here – I'm sure this house has a bath of some sort somewhere," she smiled at Mrs Hudson as she tidied Holmes's case notes.

Holmes groaned; he's forgotten that his older sister, although very much like him, was ruthless when it came to his habits.

"Watson you traitor," he grumbled.

"You should be grateful that he did ask me to visit," Annabelle chided him teasingly, "If I had spent any more time in our father's old country estate there is a risk that I would have looked in those cases you've left in your old bedroom."

"You wouldn't!" Holmes exclaimed indignantly, "That's my private property!"

"I know that," Annabelle replied, "which is precisely why I took the liberty of locking them in your cupboard while the servants weren't looking; they tend to be a bit curious," she turned to leave, "If you aren't washed, suitably dressed and sober within the next half-hour," she warned, "I'll ensure you get a _very_ cold awakening." She swept out of the now immaculate room, keeping the curtains wide open, to have a word with Mrs Hudson, leaving Holmes to digest the information she had just given him.

Knowing full well that Annabelle was in the habit of carrying out her threats, Holmes scrambled to the dresser to wash.

…

"Mr Holmes and Miss Holmes to see you, Doctor," the housekeeper opened the door and led Holmes and Annabelle inside before leaving.

"Holmes!" Watson greeted his old colleague warmly before turning to Annabelle, "It's wonderful to see you, Annabelle," he turned to face Mary, "Mary, this is Annabelle Holmes; Annabelle, this is my wife, Mary,"

"Oh!" Annabelle suddenly produced a small china model of a rearing horse from her bag, "I hope you don't mind but I thought I'd bring you something in congratulations," she looked pointedly at her brother, "Sherlock neglected to mention that you were married, but I managed to finish this before I came to London." She gave it to Mary, "Congratulations," she straightened and faced Watson, "To both of you."

"Thank you," Mary replied before starting a conversation with Holmes.

"Annabelle, could I have a word?"

Annabelle turned to see that Doctor Watson didn't look like all was well.

"Whatever is the matter, John?" she asked, dropping her voice to stop Holmes hearing their conversation.

"It's this letter," the doctor began, pulling out a small piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handing it to Annabelle, "it arrived this morning, it was addressed to me, but it's in Italian, and it doesn't sound very friendly."

Annabelle examined the letter and frowned, "Don't you want to show this to Sherlock?"

"He doesn't speak any other language but English," Watson explained, "but you studied in Venice so I thought –"

"You thought I could translate it?" Annabelle smiled, "there's one problem; it's using coded messaging, but I'll do my best." She pulled a notebook and pen from her purse and leaned on the desk nearby.

"_Dottore Watson_" Annabelle read quietly,"_la Rosa del nome Della signora sacra si appassirà se lo scienziato è aiutato nel prossimo esperimento. Se Lei dovesse aiutare lo scienziato, la rosa si appassirà, e lei morrà__._ You're right, it isn't friendly." She looked Watson in the eye, "It's a death threat."

"A death threat!" Watson exclaimed in a whisper; Holmes looked up at Annabelle and raised a questioning eyebrow. She responded with a significant look that clearly stated, "I'll tell you later"

"What does it say?" Watson asked.

"It starts with _Dotorre__ Watson_," Annabelle explained, "That's you; _Dotorre_ means 'Doctor'." She frowned and scribbled in her notebook; "_la Rosa del nome Della signora sacra si appassirà_... the rose by the name of our sacred lady will wither... wonder what that means."

"Our sacred lady?" the Doctor asked, "what could that mean?"

"The Italians are Catholic," Annabelle replied distractedly, "the sacred lady means –" her eyes widened, "Mary. The rose will wither – it's threatening Mary's life."

"On what grounds?" Watson looked horrified.

"It says... _se lo scienziato è aiutato nel prossimo esperimento_, that means, 'if you aid the scientist in his next experiment.' That could mean Sherlock; he's a scientist. Experiment... correct me if i'm wrong but doesn't Sherlock view his cases as if they are grand scientific experiments? He used to test on Gladstone, did he not?"

The pair looked at the dog, who was dozing in front of the fireplace.

"He did," the Doctor admitted, remembering how annoyed he used to get when that happened.

"So," Annabelle concluded, "it's saying that if you help Holmes in his next case then Mary will die, which suggests that there's going to be a case for Holmes after all." She commented dryly, raising her eyebrows, "Sherlock will be pleased."

"What am I to do?" Watson asked; his voice was strained and he was wringing his hands.

"Firstly, you cannot tell Mary," Annabelle replied, "if you must tell someone – no, I will tell Sherlock," Annabelle raised a hand to stop the Doctor's interruption, "If you wish for someone to keep an eye on her, I will arrange for some of the regulars to do it. The police will be made aware of it – I'll make sure of that." Annabelle folded the note and handed it back to Watson, "Nothing will happen to her," she promised, "Not if I have anything to do with it."

"You might not be able to stop it," Watson pointed out.

"I can try," Annabelle replied, determination adding an edge to her voice, "Nobody threatens my friends, especially if they do it in a way that nobody will understand,"

"What about Holmes's case?" Watson asked.

"It doesn't say that I can't help him," Annabelle smirked, "Lestrade may say that a crime scene is no place for a woman, but it's more my place than his."

"What are you two gossiping about?" Holmes asked, coming over as Annabelle hid her notes and Watson hid the letter.

"Just congratulating Annabelle on getting you into shape," Watson smiled, not concealing the worry from Holmes, but hiding it sufficiently from Mary.

"What was that about?" Holmes leaned toward Annabelle in an attempt to glean some information.

"Now isn't a good time to discuss it," Annabelle replied quietly, breezing past him, "suffice it to say that you will be busy enough when I tell you what Watson told me."

"Tell me."

"All in good time, brother," Annabelle replied before sitting near Mary and explaining how she became acquainted with Doctor Watson.

…

Holmes couldn't stand the opera.

Annabelle knew this and had deliberately dragged him to one under the guise of "teaching him to be more sociable."

Bored of the opera, Holmes excused himself and ended up standing just outside the theatre, staring into the empty street.

"Bored of the opera?"

Holmes started in alarm, half expecting Annabelle to be stood behind him when he turned around.

There was a young woman standing behind him, but she was definitely not his older sister; although her hair was also black and curly, her eyes were black as jet, and less almond-shaped than Annabelle's; her skin was a light olive brown and she wore a long, dark blue dress which complimented her complexion.

"My sister dragged me here," Holmes replied, "knowing full well how much I hate it."

The woman smiled; "My mother loves it, she can't get enough of the opera but…" she shrugged, "I can't stand it personally – all that singing about tragic events in a language that nobody understands –"

"It's Italian, Avara."

Holmes and the woman both turned to find Annabelle leaning on the door with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Annabelle!" the women rushed forward and greeted each other with a hug.

"Where have you been?" Annabelle asked, "still being courted by Berkiss?"

"Mercifully no," Avara replied, smiling, "He was recently married to Lady Helen Thurston."

"Oh!" Annabelle exclaimed, "Sherlock, this is my old school friend, Avara Bailey. Avara, you remember my brother?"

"The famous Sherlock Holmes," Avara nodded, "I thought you were staying with Mycroft, Annabelle?"

"An old friend bid me visit London and stop Sherlock from messing around with gun silencers and the like," Annabelle replied, "It's good to see you again – come, let's go to Baker Street; we can catch up on each other's stories there."

"What about my mother?" Avara asked.

"What about her?" Sherlock responded.

"Sherlock!" Annabelle reprimanded him, "Manners!" she turned to Avara; "I'll ask one of the footmen to inform her that you met an old friend in the foyer." She vanished for a few moments before returning and linking arms with Avara, "Come," was all she said.

…

After much gossiping and reminiscing (often at Holmes's expense) Avara and Annabelle's conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Mrs Bailey, Avara's mother, who demanded that her daughter return home immediately.

"Mr Holmes is not good company, Avara," she insisted as she bustled her protesting daughter out the door, "Delighted to see you again, Miss Holmes," she added, making it clear that she remembered Annabelle before the carriage departed.

"A most unusual woman," Holmes commented, "your friend, Miss Bailey; she seems to understand more about crime than most women – almost as much as you."

"She understands crimes just as well as I, Sherlock," Annabelle replied, rising from her seat, "I should be returning to my hotel; goodnight, brother," she swept from the room and caught a cab to the hotel, leaving Holmes to brood over the curious behaviour of Miss Bailey.

…

Holmes was rudely woken by Lestrade storming into the room.

"Wake up Holmes!" he yelled, flinging the curtains wide as Annabelle and Avara, who had somehow convinced her mother that it would be good for her to meet her old school friend, stood in the doorway glaring disapprovingly at Lestrade.

"Inspector," Annabelle asked icily, "Is there any particular reason you have decided to visit my brother?"

"There was a murder on Tottenham court road last night," Lestrade replied; "I hate to say it but we need his help – and Doctor Watson's."

"Doctor Watson, as you well know, cannot aid this investigation owing to the fact that his wife was threatened yesterday morning," Annabelle replied, "But Avara and I will do all we can to assist,"

"A murder scene is no place for a young lady," Lestrade replied, sneering slightly as he came within arms reach of them, "why don't you stay here and do some embroidery like most women do? It would be far too distressing for – OUCH!"

That statement was in response to a particularly vicious slap on both sides of his face; both Avara and Annabelle had struck Lestrade simultaneously, leaving him with identical red marks on his cheeks.

"I am a Holmes, sir," Annabelle replied, "And Avara is descended from the Bailey family; we do not know the meaning of 'distress'"

"Unless of course they are inflicting it on someone else," Holmes muttered as he pulled on his coat, "namely me,"

"But that's why you love us so much, brother," Annabelle replied sweetly

…

"Marie Des-mar-ay" Lestrade completely messed up the pronunciation.

"Marie _Desmarais,_" Avara corrected, "it's French, so you should pronounce it properly."

"How do you know that –"

"Inspector," Annabelle interrupted, "Avara did study in both France and Germany; she speaks both languages fluently."

Lestrade glared at her and continued, "aged 27, very well thought of family."

"Drugged?" Avara asked, taking note of the strange look on the victim's face.

"Possibly," Lestrade replied, "but we'd need a doctor to determine that."

Annabelle and Avara knelt down to examine the victim.

"Asphyxiation marks," Annabelle noted, "there's a burn mark on her neck that replicates that of a rope,"

"Do you think that was the method of death, sister?"

"Hardly," Avara replied, "The rope was a trick – actual cause of death…" the women turned the victim over to reveal a large blade-shaped hole in her back, "…she was stabbed and bled to death."

"Marks on her heels suggest she was dragged to this area," Annabelle added before looking in the victim's eyes, "she was under the influence of a hallucinogenic – her eyes are misted over."

"You were saying you needed a doctor?" Holmes asked, "Did I neglect to mention that Annabelle and Miss Bailey happen to have studied medicine and forensic sciences?"

"Never mind your boasting, brother," Annabelle sighed, "we have a murder on our hands, and there will be more besides, given the note pinned to her stomach."

"Note?" Lestrade asked.

"_This will not be the last,_" Avara read over Annabelle's shoulder, "That's self-explanatory."

Annabelle's eyebrows were raised as she thrust the note into Lestrade's hand and signalled Holmes and Avara to follow her.

"Do I detect an inkling of alarm, sister?" Holmes asked in jest, his eyes twinkling.

"Indeed you did, Sherlock," came the response as Annabelle's brow furrowed in concentration.

"What is it?" Avara asked, alarmed by her usually mirthful friend's change of temperament.

"The hand-writing on that letter," Annabelle replied, turning to face them both, "Was exactly the same as that on the letter to Doctor Watson," she looked Holmes in the eye, "The one that threatens Mary's life."

…

**That's it! I hope you enjoyed my very weird fic's first chapter! I would like to say that any foreign languages used in this fic are filched from an online translator, so apologies for any grammatical errors but I am not fluent in any language except English. Avara Bailey is the character of the lovely Mira and Annabelle Holmes is my character.**

**Looking forward to your reviews! And flames will be lent to Maple for her little Caesium and Francium experiments. Basically, they will be ignored and I will send you a little message telling you what Maple did with your flame.**

**Also, anybody else absolutely love the 221B game on the movie site?**

**Click the green button… you know you want to!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Watson's grievances

**Disclaimer: don't own, Holmes or Watson, which is annoying. You know how it works.**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

…

For the past two days Sherlock, Annabelle and Avara had been receiving threatening notes from the man they presumed was the murderer whilst bailing each other out of jail (or, to be more specific, bailing Sherlock out of jail), on Annabelle's part receiving regular reports about Mary Watson's safety and, on the part of Avara, convincing her mother that it was safe for her to investigate the murder because she was in good company.

Annabelle had been surprised to hear that Doctor Watson had received a second letter – this time in English – stating that he wasn't to have anything to do with Holmes if Mary was to live and had, in response, called upon a good friend of hers to keep an eye on Mary. Maple Hood, the 14-year-old, stubborn, gun-wielding leader of a rather formidable branch of the irregulars simply known as the merry-makers.

Naturally, Maple had bumped into Doctor Watson with her second-in-command, Katrina, in the middle of a London street and had formerly introduced herself as "the girl who's taking over watching your wife."

It didn't take long for the good Doctor to notice the gun hidden in her jacket.

"Annabelle!"

Annabelle looked up from her notes as the doctor stormed into her hotel room looking less than pleased.

"Whatever's the matter, John?" she asked innocently.

"The girl whose gang are watching Mary," the Doctor exclaimed incredulously, "You gave her a _gun_?"

"Standard issue MK1 revolver," Annabelle replied, "if someone tries to kill Mary, Maple's the girl to stop them - she's the best shot in the irregulars, and they're all pretty good."

"But a _revolver_?"

"She won't use it unless necessary," Annabelle promised, "I made her swear to that; she wasn't too happy about it."

"But -"

"Mary is in the best hands," Annabelle interrupted, "Trust me."

Doctor Watson sighed and sat down, running a hand through his hair.

"Of all the insane things I have seen and heard during my time working with Holmes," He began, "None of them have ever been quite as mad as this. You do realise that the merry-makers are the most dangerous of all the irregulars?"

"I have heard rumours to that affect," Annabelle replied, tidying her notes away, "But I can assure you that they are the best group for the job; I taught Maple how to read and write the last time I was in London. I know her well enough to know that if she is asked to do something, she will do it to the best of her ability." She rose, "Now if you'll excuse me I need to have a word with my brother."

"Would you kindly give him my regards?"

Annabelle smiled, "of course."

With that she left Watson to puzzle over the business of the merry-makers.

…

"Anything to report, Maple?"

"Just a couple of things," Maple replied, "Katrina's tailing Mary at the moment but we've all noticed some teacher-like man hovering about so I wanted to know if –"

"No he hasn't," Annabelle replied; "If he had asked someone to keep an eye on her he would have informed me."

"Right," Maple nodded, "And she seems to be getting slightly hysterical at random moments – usually after she's had something to drink, actually. It's slightly strange."

"Can you get some of your friends into the kitchens to see what is going on?"

"We've tried that but the doors are always locked," Maple shook her head, "and the windows are frosted – whoever it is doesn't want us to know what's going on."

"Well, thank you for the information, Maple," Annabelle scribbled some notes and gave Maple a small pouch of money, "share it equally among the group."

"Will do," Maple grinned before running off to find her gang.

Annabelle smiled and returned to Baker Street with her notes in her hand.

…

"Avara," Holmes looked over at the young woman who was currently trying to piece together some of the information that they had been given by Maple with information she had gathered by questioning the victim's relations and acquaintances.

"Mm?" she asked distractedly.

"What exactly is the purpose of this exercise?"

"The purpose, Mr Holmes, is to see if there are any connections between the victim and Doctor Watson's wife's condition," Avara replied; "for example, the hallucinogenic used on the victim gave her periods of hysteria, very similar to those of Mrs Watson."

"I see," Holmes replied, approaching and looking at the notes, "It seems that Mrs Watson is in more danger than any of us think,"

"Why do you think the merry-makers were called in?" Avara replied, returning to her notes and searching for any more connections.

…

The reports continued to inform Annabelle of an increased state of hysteria in Mary Watson – so much so that even the doctor had noticed and mentioned it to her when asking what she had discovered.

Katrina, Maple's second-in-command, had recently tried to pick the lock of the kitchen door in order to see what was going on. Regrettably, there were no signs of success – the door was bolted from the inside, making it impossible to enter.

Striving to find a way of preventing any harm coming to Mary, Annabelle had arranged to visit, and was bringing Avara with her – Avara did, after all, have a gift for noticing things other people would pay no heed to.

Now that the day had arrived for the visit, after several cancellations owing to the fact that Mrs Watson had suddenly started screaming unintelligibly and had been made to rest, the pair arrived at the house, only to find Mary bursting from the door and heading toward the road.

"Mrs Watson!" Annabelle tried several times to grab hold of her, but only succeeded in slowing her down.

Mary Watson ran into the road and was trampled to death by a cabby.

"No!"

Annabelle turned to find Doctor Watson staring in shock while the whole street stopped and stared at the trampled body of Mrs Watson.

"You said you'd stop them killing her!" the doctor suddenly exploded at Annabelle, breaking into grievous sobs, "you promised!"

"I tried –" Annabelle was in a state of shock, "I almost stopped her –"

"Get them both inside," Avara ordered the maids who were standing in the doorway, "Hurry!" she turned to the gawking crowd on the street, "someone call the police!" she yelled, "and someone send for Mr Holmes!"

Avara's tone snapped everyone into action; within minutes, Lestrade and his officers were on the scene and Sherlock Holmes was attempting to soothe the grief-stricken Watson while Avara and Maple, who had been allowed in to help, endeavoured to bring the shaking Annabelle out of shock.

"Why?" Watson demanded, "Why Mary?"

"Because then you would be unable to investigate." Annabelle finally managed to say something; her head rose and she looked Doctor Watson in the eye, "killing Mary was designed to drive you to grief and make you part of the investigation, which would in turn affect Sherlock and make him a part of it also." Her eyes widened as if something had become clear to her, "keeping you two out of the investigations would mean that the perpetrator would have a clear reign over London for longer; you two are the finest detective team in London," she smiled bitterly, "without you two there would be no hope for this city, and you, Doctor Watson, are the only one who had anything to lose,"

"She's right," Avara agreed; "You had a wife whom you love dearly – losing her would completely destroy you. Our culprit knows this – he used a hallucinogen, the same one as was used on the first victim –"

"They'll just think it's an accident," Annabelle commented; "Lestrade knows nothing of the other letters, does he?"

Watson refused to answer.

"John?" Annabelle's look was pleading, but the doctor still wouldn't listen.

"Watson," Holmes asked, "Will you please answer my sister's question?"

"No,"

"No you won't or no he doesn't?" Avara asked.

"No he doesn't," Watson replied, "And I'm not going to speak to Miss Holmes again. She broke her promise and my wife has now died because of it."

"John –"

"No, Annabelle," Watson shook his head and raised his hand, "Mary is dead because you failed to keep her safe –"

"Now see here, Watson –" Holmes rose to defend his sister.

"I tried –" Annabelle attempted to persuade Watson to listen, to no avail.

"Well you didn't try hard enough did you?" Watson yelled back, breaking into sobs once again.

"She tried, isn't that enough?" Avara was furious at Watson's outburst, "Is it Annabelle's fault that your wife was drugged? Is Annabelle to blame for the fact that, no matter how hard she tried to restrain Mary, your wife insisted on escaping and running into the road? Is Annabelle responsible for trampling Mary to death in a cab?" she jabbed her finger into his chest, her eyes burning with undisguised anger; "Annabelle tried to stop your insane wife 5 times – it's not her fault that Mary had a death wish."

"Avara's right," Maple agreed; "you shouldn't be blaming Annabelle for something she tried to stop happening; if anything this should make you want to hunt down the man who did it."

"Maple," Annabelle warned, "don't."

"Get out." Watson ordered now that he could speak again, "Just get out."

"Fine," Annabelle stood, "I'm going," she barely managed to stop her voice from breaking as she ran from the room.

There was a moment of silence while everyone stared after her, which was broken only when Maple punched Watson in the face.

"If I didn't know that you were Annabelle's friend," she growled, glaring acidly at him, "then I'd shoot you between your legs."

"Maple!" Avara exclaimed, shocked, before slapping Watson herself and leaving the room with the fourteen-year-old, making a point of not saying a word to Watson.

Holmes and Watson stared in shock after the 3 women for a moment.

"I think it would be best of you apologised, Watson,"

"She promised that no harm would come to Mary if she could help it,"

"She couldn't help your wife running in front of the cab,"

"She could have grabbed hold of her and pulled her away."

"She tried that five times," Holmes snapped, "as both Maple and Avara told you. Your wife escaped and subsequently died; Annabelle did try to stop her."

"But she failed,"

"Watson," Holmes sighed, "You don't seem to understand how important your friendship is to my sister – if it were possible to bring your wife back from the dead Annabelle would do it."

"That's ridiculous." Watson stated bitterly.

"Nevertheless, it's the honest truth," Holmes replied, "You were her first friend in London who wasn't family – the first outsider, if you will, who treated her like an equal rather than an ignorant woman. Why do you think she went to such lengths to protect Mary?"

"Holmes –"

"She would do anything for her family," Holmes interrupted, "and she considers you to be family in the same way as I," He rose, "Your anger upset her greatly, even if she doesn't show it." He turned to leave.

"Holmes,"

Holmes turned to see Watson standing and facing him.

"I want to help with the case," the Doctor said, "your sister and her friend were right about me being the only one who had anything to lose, but I want to stop this from happening to anybody else."

The companions shook hands, affirming Watson's determination.

"It's always good to work with you, Watson," Holmes said.

…

Regardless of the fact that Watson was now working with Annabelle on the case, the pair simply refused to speak to each other – or indeed remain in the same room together; Annabelle wouldn't speak to Watson, Avara informed him, because his behaviour toward her on the day of Mary's death was abominable and had added to her already disrupted emotions at failing in her task. Avara also reported that, since insisting that Annabelle stay with her in her parents' house while Mr and Mrs Bailey were at Bath, Annabelle's usually laid-back and mischievous temperament had diminished and been replaced by a reclusive, quiet and somewhat lost manner. She had looked pointedly at Watson when she informed him and Holmes of this, evidently still blaming him.

Nevertheless, Annabelle threw herself into the case in very much the same way as Watson, eager to forget her troubles and track down the man who was responsible for two deaths. Maple's description of Mary's stalker has lead Sherlock to the conclusion that the murders involved a professor Moriarty, which meant nothing to Avara, Annabelle or the merry-makers, but was apparently significant to Doctor Watson.

"Sherlock," Annabelle came bursting into the study while Holmes and Watson were discussing the murders; a large amount of paper was in her hand.

"Annabelle?" Holmes enquired, "what gems of information have you and the Merry-makers uncovered?"

"Very funny, brother," Annabelle snorted sarcastically, "Marie Desmarais had connections to the royal institute of scientists – her fiancée was one of the most distinguished scientists. Mary was the wife of a doctor with connections to a scientist – you." She placed the notes on the table, so excited that she didn't even remember not to talk to Doctor Watson, "He's targeting scientific connections."

"So any woman with connections to a scientist is at risk?" Watson asked, also forgetting to ignore Annabelle.

"Don't worry, I'm sure Avara and I can take care of ourselves," Annabelle replied, "but here's the interesting thing; both victims have a connection to one scientist," she looked at Holmes, "You went to university with Marie's fiancée. Professor Moorcroft, remember him?"

"Indeed I do," Holmes replied; "He was the only person to understand my experiments in the entire university."

"Also," Annabelle continued as Avara and Maple entered the room, "I fear your Miss Adler may be the next target."

"Holmes,"

The three turned to Avara – her face bore no hint of its usual mischief.

"What is it?" Holmes asked, "What happened?"

"Irene Adler was found a few moments ago in an alleyway," Avara explained; "Her throat was slit."

…

That's it for now! *Dodges flames* yeah I know it sucked, but Maple wanted it up! And I wanted Mary and Irene to die in the same chapter. Apologies to fellow Watson fans for making Watson behave like a prat, but it was necessary.

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Grief and Common Goals.

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**As you know, I don't own Holmes or Watson or anyone else. Except Annabelle.**

…

Holmes stared at Avara and Maple in silence. Nobody had the courage to speak.

Finally, Annabelle sighed and sat down on a nearby chair, her head in her hands.

"I had hoped," she whispered, "That we'd be able to prevent this from happening,"

"Perhaps if we had been given the information earlier…" Watson suggested.

"It would have made no difference," Holmes found his voice at last; "She would have been killed before we had a chance to act on our discovery."

"Do you think you could face examining the body?" Avara's voice was gentle as she approached.

"Perhaps not," Holmes shook his head, "you go."

"I should stay here –" Watson began.

"Watson, you are needed at the crime scene," both Avara and Holmes cut him off before looking at each other.

"I'll stay behind," Annabelle decided.

"Annabelle –"

"I'm your sister, Sherlock,"

"And as such you should examine the crime," Holmes replied, "You can see things in the same way as I,"

"So can Avara."

"Lestrade would listen better to you," Holmes replied, "You are more inclined to hit him otherwise."

Avara and Annabelle looked at each other and struggled not to smile; the last time the pair had been in London and had met Lestrade it had been Avara, not Annabelle, who had threatened to shoot him in the foot.

"Very well," Annabelle rose, "What will you do, Avara?"

"I'll stay and make sure that Holmes doesn't over do it with the alcohol," Avara replied.

"Maple?"

"I should get back to the gang," maple replied, "see if we can dig up some information for you,"

Annabelle nodded; "Looks like it's just you and me, Doctor Watson," she said.

The pair left Baker Street and walked to the crime scene.

…

"John?"

"Mm?"

"I think there may be something going on between Sherlock and Avara,"

"What?" Watson stopped dead in his tracks, "How can you tell?"

"It may be nothing, of course," Annabelle was fidgeting awkwardly, "but they seem to be, well, I'm not sure how to say this but –"

"Looking at each other as if they have feelings for each other?" Watson suggested, "I thought that was just me hallucinating."

Annabelle smiled, "in that case you're not the only one,"

"Perhaps," Watson mused, "when this case is solved we could question them,"

"Unless they announce it themselves," Annabelle replied as they rounded the corner and approached the crime scene, "that would save us the trouble,"

"Ah! Watson!" Lestrade approached, "Mr Holmes not accompanying this venture?"

"My brother is suffering from grief, Inspector," Annabelle replied, being careful to behave, "I have come in his stead."

"He agreed to this?"

"He insisted," Annabelle responded, "I'm sure I can be just as useful as my brother,"

"As I said before, Miss Holmes," Lestrade replied, "a murder scene is no place for a lady."

"And as I have told you five times, Inspector," Annabelle was struggling to keep her temper, "I have been surrounded by murder cases since my brother and I came to London for our education." She smiled and swept past him to examine the victim.

"Another decoy?" Watson asked.

"Not this time," Annabelle replied, motioning for him to come closer, "there are marks on her wrists that indicate a struggle, but the cause of death was the slit in her throat."

"Time of death…" Watson checked the corpse, "12 hours."

"That would suggest that she was killed yesterday evening," Lestrade chipped in.

Annabelle frowned, "she didn't die here,"

"What?"

"There isn't enough blood here to indicate that this is where she died," Annabelle looked up, "she was dragged here after the deed was done,"

Watson looked up the alleyway, "There are traces of blood leading away from the body,"

"Are there?" Lestrade asked before looking himself, "So there are. Right; Miss Holmes, stay here."

"And leave the discovery of the murder site to you?" Annabelle responded, "My brother wouldn't so why should I?"

"A murder scene –"

"Is no place for a lady, yes I heard you the first ten times." Annabelle interrupted, "you'll need my help anyway, so I'm coming."

Nothing anyone could say would dissuade her, not even Watson's suggestion that she return to inform Holmes and Avara of the current events. In the end they gave up and she accompanied them, making no complaints as the muddy alleyway left evidence of the investigation upon her skirts.

"Here," Watson arrived at the door before the police, closely followed by Annabelle, who deftly jumped over a puddle to join the doctor.

"Enforced door," Watson observed, dismayed, "and the lock looks rather complicated,"

"Triple-barrel lock with an enforced doubly key mechanism," Annabelle responded after testing the lock with a small hairpin she found in her purse, "almost impossible to pick."

"Looks like the investigation stops here then," Lestrade commented, "after all that we've just hit a brick wall –"

He was interrupted as Annabelle pushed the door open, a mischievous smile on her face.

"I only said _almost_ impossible," she explained, walking calmly through the doorway and returning the lock-pick to its home.

"How did she _do_ that?" Lestrade whispered to Watson, who was none the wiser.

"Were do you think my brother learned to pick locks?" Annabelle replied innocently, "we had a lot of fun breaking into cook's stores when we were children – she never suspected a thing,"

Watson smiled to himself as he remembered Holmes's version of the story, in which he had been the one to pick all the locks and Annabelle nearly got them caught (Watson suspected that Holmes had switched the facts a bit and had now been proved correct).

Just as Watson and Annabelle had deducted, there was a considerably greater quantity of blood in this room than there had been at the sight where the body was left. Lestrade and his men examined the scene, picking up evidence here and there, trying to come up with a suspect based on the little proof they could find.

Watson was also looking for clues, but it was Annabelle who saw the message on the wall.

"This isn't the first," she read aloud, causing everyone to look at her, still not noticing the message, "but nor will it be the last. By the 3rd full moon from this day, the great detective will fall, and his assistant will fall with him."

"What did you just say?" Lestrade asked.

Annabelle nodded her head towards the wall, "it's written in blood," she stated simply, "Irene Adler's blood,"

"Just as the next message will be written in yours, Annabelle Holmes," a voice sneered from the far corner of the room.

Annabelle whirled round to see one of the police officers, eyes full of confident scorn, pointing a gun at her chest.

"The great Professor will be pleased," he smiled.

…

**Dun, dun, duuuuuuuuuuun!!!!! Fear the evil cliff-hanger of doom! *evil laugh***

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – a case of corruption and a demon professor

**Disclaimer: see previous chapters.**

**Wow! Reviews! Thank you muchly! ^_^**

**Methinks this story is starting to pick up at last! Hallelujah!**

**Anyway, I won't detain you a moment longer, on with the story!**

…

Watson moved in front of Annabelle to shield her from the bullet.

"You're not risking your life for my sake, Doctor Watson." Annabelle insisted, attempting to push the Doctor aside.

"Holmes has already lost one person –"

"He can't afford to lose his best friend," Annabelle insisted.

"Nor would he wish to lose his sister," Watson pointed out.

"I am less valuable," Annabelle responded, "if you died –"

The policeman suddenly collapsed, revealing a murderous-looking Maple brandishing a cricket bat.

"I can't take you two anywhere can I?" she joked, hitting the policeman again as he groaned on the floor, "Cork it," she growled.

"Maple," Annabelle greeted, a hint of amusement in her voice, "perhaps you could explain what you're doing with my brother's favourite cricket bat?"

"He insisted," Maple replied, "Avara figured out that you and her would be targets soon enough and, because Mr Holmes is her responsibility at the moment, she sent me along. Mr Holmes decided I should take something I could use as a weapon that doesn't cause too much damage," the irregular sounded rather annoyed at this and Annabelle couldn't help but chuckle.

"Sometimes I wonder what you would've been if I hadn't taken it upon myself to teach you to read, Maple Hood," her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Probably a murderous raving psychopath," Maple concluded after a moment's thought, "and I still have that potential."

"Clearly, considering your readiness with the cricket bat," Watson replied, "What ever is the matter Lestrade?" he suddenly asked the bewildered detective inspector.

"But… how…?" he asked.

"Maple's got a knack for getting anywhere unseen," Annabelle explained, "something that she's explained to me, regardless of how fruitless my attempts are."

"Right." Lestrade replied, still looking stunned, "What'll we do with him?" he nodded at the now unconscious, and evidently corrupt, policeman

"Standard procedure, I suppose," Annabelle replied, "Arrest, interrogation, charge of corruption and attempted murder, conviction, the usual police protocols,"

"You behave as if this is a normal occurrence, Miss Holmes," Doctor Watson noted, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"When you happen to be related to one of the world's greatest detectives, Doctor Watson," Annabelle replied, the same amusement in her own voice, "you get used to people behaving in this manner,"

"Which one, the corrupt would-be murderer or the cricket bat wielding teenager?" Watson asked; Maple could have sworn that he was almost flirting.

"Both," Annabelle replied breezily, "or, in some cases, just the policeman and I am forced to test one of my more dangerous experiments, one of which involved a rather high-voltage electro-static charge – the poor fellow was comatose for a month." She didn't sound at all remorseful at the incident.

Lestrade and his officers were officially flummoxed by the terminology; Maple and Watson, on the other hand, seemed to find this highly amusing, as they both had large grins on their faces.

"Well," Annabelle smiled, "We'd best report back to my brother – I'm sure he'll find this all rather interesting,"

"There is no need for that," Holmes and Avara came out of the shadows in the corner of the room, "You did rather well, sister, although I would have thought you at least would have been aware of our presence," his eyes twinkled with their old mischievous mirth once more.

"When a corrupt policeman is holding you at gunpoint, brother," Annabelle responded, betraying only a slight hint of annoyance, "you don't tend to notice such things."

"Evidently you were otherwise occupied," Holmes's eyes flickered towards Watson and Annabelle raised her eyebrows.

"I could say very much the same for you, brother," Annabelle looked pointedly at him, discreetly looking at Avara and smiling to herself as her old school friend started to turn faintly pink. Holmes blustered for a moment at his sister, evidently regretting, not for the first time, that his sister had also inherited quick wits and logical thinking from their parents.

"What you suggest is completely immoral, sister," Holmes chose his words deliberately in an attempt to gain the upper hand; Lestrade and his officers, along with Maple, Avara and Watson, watched the bickering siblings with interest. Holmes continued, "I am shocked at you; you always used to be so innocent,"

"You have a very selective memory, brother," Annabelle's tongue was as sharp and quick as a knife, "you have clearly forgotten that it was not I who made the suggestion in the first place." A wicked grin spread across her face, "and given your… _experiences_… only you would jump to such conclusions."

Lestrade was treated to something he had never expected to see; Holmes flushed bright red, defeated by his sister's wits in a way that Lestrade could never hope to replicate. Watson looked at Annabelle with a profoundly shocked expression on his face; she merely shrugged back as if to say, "He started it."

Watson rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself.

"If you'll excuse us, Lestrade," Holmes finally found his tongue, "I would like to speak to my sister. In private."

"By all means," Lestrade replied, smirking. Annabelle shrugged and followed her brother out of the warehouse.

"They're more like each other than they'd like, aren't they?" Avara commented, standing next to Watson.

"Not that Holmes would ever admit it," the Doctor replied, a light chuckle springing from his throat, "He barely even acknowledged that he had a sister the first time she visited."

"When was that?" Avara asked, curious.

"Some man had been following her when she'd visited Mycroft," Watson explained, "about seven years ago now; She'd come to London to ask for help, which he would only give when Mycroft arrived and insisted that he do so."

"What happened?" Annabelle never tended to talk about her past visits to London, so Avara was intrigued to discover more about her friend's history.

"Holmes intervened. At first the man continued to follow her – he even came to London, he was so infatuated. In the end it was my fault that he stopped pursuing her."

"What did you do?"

"I shot him in the foot."

Avara laughed at Watson's rather shamed admission.

"You loved her then, didn't you?" she asked suddenly after ensuring that only he would hear the question; he stared at her in shock.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," she informed him, "I just happened to notice that the way you looked at her wasn't exactly just looking at an old friend. You moved on, certainly, otherwise you wouldn't have married Mary, but the affection was still there; I'd even go so far as to say that it always was."

Watson flushed; "She doesn't feel the same way," he replied.

"Why do you think she went to such lengths to keep Mary alive?" Avara countered, "That wasn't just because you're the best friend of her brother, or even a friend of hers to whom she owes a debt of gratitude." She left the suggestion hanging in the air for Watson to ponder over.

The friendly conversation stopped immediately when they heard raised voices outside.

"Traditional sibling rivalry," Avara remarked, causing Watson to chuckle again.

There was a loud bang as a gun was fired.

Avara and Watson looked at each other in shock before running out to see what had happened.

…

"I would like to speak to my sister. In private."

"By all means," Lestrade replied, smirking. Annabelle shrugged and followed her brother out of the warehouse.

"What's this all about?" Annabelle asked.

"I want you to go back to Hampshire." Sherlock advised his sister.

"No,"

"What?" Sherlock was unused to abrupt refusals from his sister.

"I'm not going back to Hampshire when you need me here," Annabelle replied, "Besides; it's just starting to get interesting."

"Annabelle," Homes attempted to reason with his sister, "that man almost killed you. If he had succeeded then –" he paused, realising that he was about to admit something that he had always denied, "You're the best sister that anyone could wish for," he began, "despite our bickering. I don't know what I would do if you were killed helping me on a case, apart from blame myself."

"That's probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me," Annabelle replied, "but regardless of that, you have known me for all 33 years of your life, brother; you should know me well enough by now to know how stubborn I am. I'm not leaving you to risk your life alone."

"I've got Watson to help me,"

"In this case, Sherlock, you're going to need more than Watson, Lestrade and his bungling idiots," Annabelle countered, "particularly when Irene has become a victim."

"The culprit in this case is deliberately hurting people with whom I am acquainted," Holmes was exasperated and he raised his voice, "He has already tried to have you killed once, I will not risk that happening again!"

"I am at greater risk in Hampshire than I am here!" Annabelle raised her tone in response, "If I remain in London my guard will remain raised, whereas if I left London and stayed with Mycroft in Hampshire I would be a much easier target!"

"If you remain in London you are far more likely to remain a victim!" the detective was shouting now, angered by his sister's stubborn lack of reason.

"If I remain in London it is my own choice whether I put myself at risk or not." Annabelle replied, also shouting, "I'm staying, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I'll tell Mycroft!"

"And we both know who he will side with," Annabelle retorted.

"He wouldn't want to see you murdered either," Holmes explained, "He would most likely insist that you return to Hampshire for your own safety."

"He would still respect my decision to stay."

"Not if he heard the brutality of the last 3 murders."

"Which is precisely why you will tell him nothing," Annabelle snapped.

"You can't choose what I write to my brother,"

"He's my brother as well as yours," Annabelle was close to slapping her brother, "He knows how stubborn I am; it's one of the few qualities we 3 all share."

"You are returning to Hampshire within the next 3 days," Holmes insisted, "even if I have to tie you up and take you there myself!"

"Well, well," a malicious voice sneered from behind the bickering siblings; Annabelle heard a click as the owner cocked his pistol, "Sherlock Holmes; and his remarkable sister I see,"

Annabelle turned to face the voice; the owner was wearing a hood to shield his face and gloves prevented his finger prints from appearing on the weapon.

"Professor Moriarty," Holmes stepped in front of his sister, "What an unexpected convenience."

"For me, certainly," Moriarty mocked the detective, "I hope you have found this case intriguing,"

"It's had its moments," both siblings replied, startling the Professor for a moment.

"Welcome to London, Miss Holmes," Moriarty bowed sarcastically, "I trust you have found your brief stay enjoyable?"

"What's it to you?" Annabelle scowled, "You've hurt two people I like, one of which is my brother. I'm sure you will not be surprised to hear that you are extremely lucky that I don't have a pistol in my hands, or else you would be dead within the next twenty seconds."

"You are far to spirited for a lady," Moriarty commented.

"You're far too ignorant for a Professor," Annabelle shot back.

"And you have failed to notice that you life is in peril," Moriarty growled, "Or else you would have realised that I did not come alone."

Annabelle cursed when three men stepped out of the shadows on the alleyway.

"You have been fooled, Holmes," Moriarty laughed, "And now you will never see your beloved sister again."

Annabelle pulled Holmes out of the way as Moriarty fired his pistol, accidentally shooting one of his own men. The Professor aimed again and, as Holmes insisted on protecting his sister, the bullet struck him squarely in the stomach. The great detective fell with a grunt.

"Holmes!" Annabelle, usually able to curb her temper, suddenly launched at Moriarty and proceeded to punch and kick every part of him that she could reach until the two remaining men dragged her away, struggling to keep her under control.

At that moment, Watson and Avara burst out of the warehouse.

"One move, Watson," the Professor growled through the many bruises that Annabelle had bestowed upon him, "And the girl dies."

Avara looked at Annabelle and then at Holmes.

"Don't worry about me," Annabelle struggled with the two men, almost breaking free of them as they attempted to tie her up, "kill him!"

Moriarty sneered at Annabelle and turned to Avara, "perhaps you would like to come with us as well," he mused; Annabelle growled like a caged tiger.

"Get your filthy hands away from my friend," she spat. The Professor slapped her harshly across the face.

"You will speak when spoken to," he ordered.

"And you are going to let her go or else I'll pull the trigger."

Moriarty turned to find Avara holding a pistol aimed at his heart while Watson tended to Holmes.

"I can see why Holmes likes you," he sneered, "but you are too disobedient for my tastes," now that Annabelle's wrists were bound, the Professor grabbed her roughly around the throat and aimed his gun at Avara, "Give my regards to Holmes in the afterlife."

Now that Moriarty's heart was shielded by his hold on Annabelle, Avara aimed her gun again and fired before the Professor had a chance to prove the quality of his aim. Moriarty roared in pain as blood gushed from his right shoulder, forcing him to drop the gun he was holding. Avara shot again and just missed Moriarty's leg as he fled, his accomplices following not to far behind.

"You will regret this!" Moriarty yelled at Avara as he fled.

"I don't think I will!" she shouted in reply, "You're the one who will suffer from regrets!"

The Professor vanished and Avara ran to Watson and Holmes.

"I've managed to stop the blood," Watson explained, "and I've taken out the bullet, but we need to get him back to Baker Street as soon as possible.

"At least Annabelle won't have to worry about her brother," Avara sighed.

Watson looked up at her, "what do you mean?"

Avara took a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst.

"Watson, that Professor abducted Annabelle,"

…

**Dun, dun duuuuuuuun!!!!! That's it for now! I hope you enjoyed my rather rubbish chapter!**

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	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – a Rescue and a time for Truth

**Disclaimer: I thought I told you this! *Laughs* only kidding. This is the next chapter anyway!**

**Before we begin, I'd like to borrow a moment of your time to say, again, that people have alerted my story without reviewing. Although the alerting is nice, the lack of reviews makes me sad, because I like hearing feedback, even if it is a flame – I'd also like to add that I've made it past 5 chapters without a flame to any of them! Yay! So thank you lovely people for reading and alerting/reviewing!**

**Anyway, on with the chapter!**

…

"I need to know what Holmes has discovered."

"Go to hell."

Moriarty blinked at the stubborn, dark-haired young woman in front of him.

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be," Annabelle replied in the same cold emotionless tone with which she had been speaking to him ever since he had kidnapped her, "because even if my brother isn't able to come himself, I'm sure that he would be able to send someone in his stead."

"Sir," one of Moriarty's assorted minions came into the elaborately decorated room where Annabelle was being held prisoner, "Holmes survived, and we've received a note from someone called Maple," he handed the threatening note to Moriarty and left, bowing.

Annabelle showed emotion for the first time in the week she had been captive.

"Something amusing, Miss Holmes?"

"Maple knows where I am," Annabelle replied, "and I'm smiling because that means you're a dead man."

She fell to the floor as Moriarty backhanded her across the face.

"Well I'll just have to make sure they don't find you alive, won't I?" he growled; Annabelle stared coolly back at him, her now habitual emotionless demeanour returned just as quickly as it had left.

"By all means, kill me," she replied, "I refuse to be of any use to you and, considering the fact that I have aided your enemy I see no reason for you to keep me alive."

"How old are you?"

Annabelle blinked at Moriarty.

"I don't see it's any of your business," she replied, "suffice it to say that I am old enough to string a coherent sentence together,"

"You are certainly old enough to carry a child,"

Annabelle got to her feet and stood by the window; "If you touch me I'll –"

"You will be in no fit state to do anything," Moriarty replied, advancing on Annabelle, who backed into the reinforced window.

"I highly doubt that, Professor Pinhead."

The Professor turned to see a group of street urchins, all holding guns aimed at his chest.

"Professor Moriarty," a voice observed as Holmes stepped into the room behind them, "We meet at last."

…**4 days earlier**…

"Watson," Holmes stated calmly, "There is no need to pace; I'm sure that my sister can cope with the situation herself."

"You don't know that, Holmes!" Watson exploded, turning sharply on his heel and stalking in the opposite direction; Avara looked up from Annabelle's notes, which she had been reading.

"For goodness' sake, Doctor Watson!" she sighed, "you're making me nervous!"

Watson collapsed into an armchair nearby, "We don't know what Moriarty's capable of; goodness knows what he could have done in the last 3 days."

At that moment, Maple and Katrina came bursting into the room, Mrs Hudson fussing behind them.

"Johnny found 'em," Maple grinned, positively bouncing over to where Holmes had opened a map of London while Katrina looked at Watson curiously.

"You alright?" she asked, "You look awful."

"Stress, Trina," Maple replied knowingly, grinning as she looked at the Doctor, "He's worried because Annabelle's being held hostage by Professor Pinhead."

"Pinhead?" Holmes asked, raising his eyebrows as Katrina joined him, Maple and Avara at the map with Watson in tow.

"Well if he's stupid enough to kidnap Annabelle and hide her in Johnny's patch," Katrina grinned, "Johnny and his lot are almost as bad as us,"

"Only almost?" Avara enquired.

"Well, Johnny used to be one of us lot," Maple explained, "but he moved to a different part of town to recruit the local kids there and started a new group. We told them that Annabelle was kidnapped and he sent his lot out so have a sniff around before telling us where she was."

"How did he find out?" Watson asked.

"Well," Katrina giggled, "Johnny used to be sweet on her when she taught us lot to read and write, and he saw her staring out the window of one of the Park crescent houses –"

"Park Crescent?" Avara asked, "Which house?"

Maple frowned, trying to remember, "16 I think," she said, "Why?"

"Because my uncle owns a house there," Avara replied, "we could use that as a base to observe number 16 – it's directly opposite."

"I believe we have the beginning of a plan," Holmes commented, sitting back in his chair and lighting his pipe.

…

"I don't suppose you could tell me why Mr Holmes wishes to borrow my house?" Mr Wilfred Negsby, Avara's uncle, asked as he peered at the detective through pale beady eyes. Avara had managed to persuade her uncle, within the space of a few hours, to allow Mr Holmes to borrow a small area of the house for the next day, and now they were here planning how best to rescue Annabelle.

"It's rather complicated, uncle," Avara replied gently, steering the old man away from the room where Holmes was talking to the Merrymakers and Jackdaws, which was the name of the slightly smaller group of irregulars run by Johnny Noble, the boy who had located Annabelle and had since then been posting some of his gang to keep watch, with the orders that if anything appeared to be wrong they would cause a diversion and alert him immediately.

Johnny had been very frank with Mr Holmes since his arrival at number 13 Park Crescent. Regardless of the fact that Maple, being higher in rank than the obstinate 11-year-old, had reprimanded him for being so rude to Annabelle's little brother, Johnny had made it perfectly clear that as long as Mr Holmes was on his turf, he followed his rules. Watson had had to leave to visit a client before the discussions had begun, leaving Avara to distract her uncle while Holmes and the irregulars formulated a plan in one of the back rooms.

"I still don't understand why anyone would want to kidnap such a lovely young girl," Mr Negsby wheezed as Avara helped him up the stairs, "How old is she now? 17?"

"She's 2 years older than me, Uncle," Avara laughed, "She turned 34 last December."

"My word," Mr Negsby mused, "it's been such a long time, hasn't it?"

Avara agreed and handed her uncle to the nurse, who guided him to his room and got him ready for his nap, before she returned to the back room Holmes was using as a base.

"I think it might be better if you stayed out of sight, Miss Bailey," Holmes informed her, "just so that the Professor doesn't know how many of us are in his house."

Avara pulled up a chair just as Watson entered the room. The planning resumed and continued well into the night.

…**3 days later**…

"Holmes," Moriarty growled, reaching for his own pistol, "One move from you or your little friends," he grabbed Annabelle around the neck with one arm and pushed his gun against her head, "and your sister dies,"

"You are going to wish you hadn't done that," Avara stepped out of the shadows, holding the same pistol she had used to shoot Moriarty's shoulder the week before. Annabelle felt the Professor tensing and promptly grabbed a gun from the holster at his hip before swinging it into his groin. His grip on her loosened and she grabbed his arm and threw her body forward, sending him flying over her shoulder and crashing into a glass cabinet. The gun in Moriarty's hand went off and shattered the window.

"I'd suggest we run," Annabelle commented casually as she picked up her belongings from another part of the room before following them out. She paused to shut the door and pulled the hairpin from her bag, locking the door with it before catching up with the others.

"So," she asked her brother casually as she fell into step with him, "how has your week been?"

"Rather uneventful," Holmes replied, "What about you?"

"Apart from a few moments when the Professor was kind enough to show his true nature and hit me across the face," Annabelle smiled grimly, "very much the same."

"He struck you?" Johnny sounded angry.

"Don't go getting yourself hurt because you want revenge, Johnny," Maple ordered, "we need you and your team alive."

"Can't we throw bricks at his windows?"

"When he's shot at us before?" Johnny's second in command, a nine-year-old boy called Will, asked incredulously, "Have you lost your mind?"

Annabelle laughed as they tore across the street and into Mr Negsby's house.

…

Watson had been forced by Holmes to stay in Mr Negsby's house, and had contented himself to pacing the front room, impatiently awaiting their return.

Holmes and Avara escorted the irregulars to the kitchen, insisting that Annabelle (who, they insisted, had been through a great ordeal and needed to rest rather than work) wait in the front room for them to come to the kitchens to look after the troublesome children.

Watson looked up as Avara opened the door and entered the room. With a happy cry he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Annabelle was so surprised that she didn't know whether to push him away or kiss him back. In the end her emotions took over and she returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around Doctor Watson as he wrapped his round her.

"Enjoying ourselves are we?"

The pair hurriedly broke apart as Avara, who had deliberately left Holmes to deal with the irregulars, chuckled at them; Annabelle blushed, cursing herself silently.

"I think I can safely say I won our bet, Holmes!" Avara called down the corridor; a curse was heard as Holmes approached the door.

"You planned this?" Watson demanded, glaring at Holmes who was smiling mischievously.

"I'm shocked at the pair of you," Holmes mock-scolded, "especially you, Annabelle; I thought you were above letting your feelings take control,"

"So says the man who, for at least 2 weeks before my abduction, was calling Avara's name in his sleep," Annabelle retorted, automatically reverting to her former sharp-tongued replies.

This time it was Holmes's turn to blush.

"I do not," he finally said.

"Oh really?" Annabelle grinned wickedly, "What about 'Avara! Save yourself! He's coming!' I presume you were referring to Moriarty? And don't deny that you said it, brother, because Maple was there and she heard it too."

"He was saying much the same thing when he was unconscious," Watson agreed, joining in the relentless teasing, "and something about evil pixies, which I found rather amusing."

"I thought you'd stopped the evil pixy dreams?" Annabelle asked her brother, "When you were 10?"

"It's none of your business what I happen to dream!" Holmes snapped irritably, "and besides which; I don't talk in my sleep!"

"You have done since you were seven, brother," Annabelle reminded him, "So does Mycroft, father used to do it also,"

"You were lucky enough to escape," Holmes replied with a hint of jealousy.

"It was one of the few things I inherited from our mother," Annabelle acknowledged, "Perhaps we should return to Baker Street; we have a lot to discuss and I don't think we should do so when we are so close to Moriarty's base."

…

"Annabelle and Watson, sitting in a tree –"

"Brother," Annabelle snapped irritably, "If you continue singing I shall be forced to throw you out of the window." She looked like she meant the threat, so Holmes became silent.

Avara grinned and spread the map across the table, "Where did you say his next target –"

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Holmes suddenly burst out. Annabelle hit her head against the table in exasperation before beating Watson to her brother and throwing him out the room. Watson completed the task by deliberately moving a heavy armchair in the way of the door.

"Peace at last," Annabelle sighed, "I'd forgotten how annoying he can be."

"I wasn't aware that was possible," Watson commented, causing both Avara and Annabelle to laugh. Holmes thumped at the door, demanding to be let back into his own room.

"Only if you stop deliberately teasing," Annabelle replied calmly, flopping into the armchair. After much protest and argument, Holmes finally agreed to stop teasing Annabelle and Watson, and was subsequently permitted entrance to his living quarters, grumbling about the audacity of people in this modern age. Annabelle pointed out that, as he was also of this modern age, he was being entirely hypocritical, which only caused him to grumble all the more.

"Oh and of course you're completely faultless, aren't you, Mr Holmes?" Avara grinned, commenting with an air of casual but biting sarcasm.

"Why yes, indeed I am," Holmes replied, "thank you for noticing, Miss Bailey,"

This statement caused Annabelle once again to hit her head on the table.

"You'll get concussion if you do that again," Watson cautioned. Annabelle looked up.

"I've already lost a ridiculous amount of brain cells thanks to my brother," she responded, "I don't think concussion is going to make a difference."

"You're just jealous that I am so much better than you, sister," Holmes informed her childishly; her response was to stick her tongue out at him.

"I'm shocked at you, Annabelle!" Avara grinned.

"Considering, brother," Annabelle began, grinning impishly, "That I taught you everything you know with relation to your profession; you could at the very least be a smidgeon grateful."

"Never!" Holmes replied, "When have I ever been grateful to Mycroft for anything?"

"When has Mycroft been foolish enough to do anything for you?" Annabelle challenged, "At least I am prepared to admit to my foolishness.

"That makes you the only one of us who has been a fool." Holmes responded.

"One all," Avara noted, evidently enjoying watching the bickering siblings.

"Two words brother," Annabelle smirked, "Elizabeth Howard."

"Two one," Avara grinned; Watson resisted the urge to laugh.

"That was below the belt, sister," Holmes replied, "as you well know Elizabeth was one of my very few mistaken romances."

"Which include," Annabelle proceeded to list them on her fingers, "Mary Barnsley, Victoria Rutherford, Isabelle Rutherford, Lucinda Darby, Jennifer Wilson –"

"I understand your point, sister!" Holmes interrupted.

"Three one," Watson commented.

Holmes was about to retort when Avara interrupted.

"Holmes," she reminded him, "you owe me ten pounds from the bet regarding Annabelle and Watson."

Annabelle flushed again and Holmes grumbled.

"I will give you the money within the week," he promised, "but I cannot do so at this moment."

Avara began to protest when there was a knock on the door.

A man with a potbelly, a balding head and a dark suit entered the room after Mrs Hudson. He had very much the same hair and eyes as Annabelle and Holmes.

"Mr Mycroft Holmes to see you sir," Mrs Hudson said.

Mycroft smiled.

"Good to see you, brother," he strode over and shook the dumbfounded detective's hand rigorously, "And to you sister," he planted a kiss on both of Annabelle's cheeks in greeting.

"Mycroft," Holmes finally found he was able to speak, "It's been too long since you last visited."

"Indeed it has, brother." Mycroft smiled, "We have much to discuss. Starting with Annabelle." He turned to his favourite sibling, who looked mildly confused, "I am informed, sister, that you were kidnapped by this Professor fellow our brother mentioned in his letters,"

"The matter was soon rectified," Annabelle replied.

"It wouldn't have happened if you had remained in the country."

Annabelle shot a glare at Holmes, who shrugged to signify that he had had nothing to do with this.

"Annabelle," Mycroft began, looking her in the eye, "I want you to return to Chilton house."

…

**Dun, dun duuuuuuuuuuun! *Thunderclap* Muahahahaha! I have succeeded in bringing in the whole Holmes family! Success! *Dances* also, updates will be even less frequent now owing to the fact that I have GCSE exams coming up, so my days will be filled with school, art work and revision.**

**I hope you enjoyed this update!**

**Click the green button! You know you want to!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Arguments and Departures

**Disclaimer: *has answered this several times***

**Sorry for the delay folks! Banned from the computer but I've got round it! Hooray! *throws confetti* I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

…

"Out of the question," Annabelle responded. Mycroft blinked; Annabelle had never been so abrupt with her answers before.

"It appears that you had the same idea as I, brother," Mycroft commented, chuckling, "and it appears that you failed to persuade her."

"As will you," Annabelle replied, "I'm not going to leave when I'm needed."

"Annabelle," Mycroft sighed, "you have already put your life at risk once, if they were to succeed in killing you –"

"They won't," Annabelle assured him, "I've managed this far without being killed, I'm sure I can manage for a few more months,"

"They will only get more determined," Mycroft insisted, "It's too –"

"If you say dangerous –"

"She's not going." Maple interrupted the argument, "And that's that."

"What makes you think so?" Mycroft asked.

"Firstly because she doesn't want to go," Maple began, "Secondly because the journey back would probably result in abduction and, most likely, a murder. She's not going."

"It's far too hazardous," Mycroft insisted, "especially for you."

"Why?" Annabelle challenged, "Because I'm a woman?"

"No," Mycroft chuckled, "Because you are the sister of one of the greatest detectives of all time and one of the best friends of his assistant. You are too useful to our brother to keep alive, and to destroy you would be to destroy him."

"You sound awfully sure of this," there was a hint of amusement in Annabelle's voice.

"When you spend as long as I have in the company of two of the finest minds in English criminal history," Mycroft smiled, "You tend to pick up a few things,"

"I'm sure you do," Holmes replied dryly, "I think we should leave the decision to our esteemed sister, Mycroft; Annabelle? Are you staying or returning to Hampshire?"

"You know perfectly well what my answer will be, brother," Annabelle replied, picking up Holmes' pistol from the floor and placing it on the table, "And you need to be careful where you drop your weapons, Sherlock; if someone had kicked it there is a risk that it could have caused serious injury." She turned and faced Mycroft and Sherlock; "I'm staying" she repeated.

"Unless someone tries to get rid of her," Sherlock added, "Then I'm sending her home"

"But –"

"It's fair," Sherlock interrupted his sister, "that way we know you're going to be safe."

"Fine," Annabelle sighed, glaring at her brother, "but only after there has been a definite attempt on my life"

"Very well," Mycroft sighed, "I should've known I would be unable to persuade you to return immediately," he turned to leave, "if you ever decide to leave sooner than agreed, you will know where to find me," the group stood in silence as Mycroft made his way down the stairs and out the front door.

"That was… unusual," Avara commented, having remained silent during the exchange, "knowing you, Annabelle, you may as well start packing,"

"Not until after the event, Avara," Annabelle replied, chuckling.

"Well, let's wait and see shall we?" Holmes added, "And sister, if someone makes an attempt on your life within the next 24 hours, you owe me 10 pounds."

"Two,"

"Five"

"Done."

The siblings both turned and strode towards the door, leaving Avara, Maple and Watson staring at the sudden shift in temperament.

Simultaneously, the Holmeses turned to face their friends, "Coming?" they asked; the three followed as Holmes exited the door first, followed by Annabelle, and they made their way to the world beyond Baker Street.

…

"Holmes!"

Lestrade came storming over as the group approached Scotland Yard.

"Ah, Lestrade!" Holmes replied breezily, "I was wondering when you would pester us again,"

"You found her then?" Lestrade asked, nodding at Annabelle, who bristled.

"'She' has a name," she snapped, "and yes he did, no thanks to you."

"You ladies shouldn't be here," he informed her, "crime is not something for ladies to get involved in."

"Says the man who got outwitted by a thirteen-year-old," Maple shot back, "did you find Annabelle? I don't _think_ so,"

"Children should be seen and not heard," Lestrade mocked, "And in the case of urchins, not even seen."

He was unable to say anything else because Maple used the handle of her gun to hit him in the groin; he groaned and fell to the floor.

"Maple," Avara chuckled, "next time try to be more subtle,"

"I don't think 'subtle' is a word with which you can describe her," Holmes replied, "in very much the same way as 'intelligent' isn't a word that can describe Lestrade,"

Annabelle chuckled, "why did we come here, brother?"

"Just to announce your safe recovery, sister," Holmes replied, "Now we can do something useful for a change."

Annabelle felt a faint breeze as a gunshot sounded from a building nearby, barely missing her head and hitting a policeman in the shoulder. The group ducked as a second shot was fired, narrowly missing Annabelle again. The explosions ceased momentarily, enabling Holmes to flag down a cab and get his party inside.

"The Roselawn hotel," he ordered the driver, "and hurry!"

The cab sped down the road in the direction of Annabelle's lodgings in silence.

"Brother –" Annabelle began in an attempt to break the silence.

"The deal was final, Annabelle," Holmes replied, "There's nothing I can do,"

"I still owe you five pounds,"

"Keep it," Holmes replied wryly, "I'd only end up giving it back to you anyway,"

They pulled up in front of the hotel and Annabelle ran inside. There was a few minutes' pause before she came back, attached her trunk to the back of the coach and clambered inside.

"Where to now?" she asked.

"Baker Street," Holmes replied, "I've paid the driver; he will take you straight to the station after we've said our farewells,"

Annabelle nodded, resigned to her fate, "I had hoped to have lasted longer than a few hours before having to return to the country," she sighed.

"It's for your own safety," Holmes replied, "you are less of a threat to them if you are away from London,"

The cab pulled up outside the detective's home and all but Annabelle filed out.

"Let me know how the case goes," Annabelle ordered her brother.

"I will," Holmes promised, "do let me know how you find life in the country after all the excitement in London,"

"Ha, ha," Annabelle replied sarcastically before closing the carriage door, bidding her friends and brother farewell and setting off for the country.

…

"I never thought I would be sad to see my sister leave," Holmes commented.

"We'll all miss her," Avara replied, "and we've just lost a valuable member of our crime-solving team."

"Nevertheless," Holmes nodded, "it was for her own safety," the group entered Holmes's quarters in baker street to review their notes regarding the case.

…

If it weren't for the bump in the road Annabelle would have been safely on the train to Hampshire.

She had been thinking about the case (more specifically, about Doctor Watson's role in it) when the cab turned, jumped and suddenly went spinning out of control.

_I'm sure the wheel wasn't lose before,_ she thought as she crumpled into the roof of the cab as it landed with a resounding crash on the cobblestone path, nearly hitting several passers-by.

She happened to be facing one of the doors when the cab driver slumped, unmoving, to the floor; his lifeblood spurting from his head at an alarming rate as several pairs of feet rushed over to the scene, the owners of each clamouring for a good view of the accident.

An overpowering exhaustion took Annabelle and she slumped into her landing place, blissfully unaware of the calamity around her.

…

"Mr Holmes!" Mrs Hudson came bursting into the room, sobbing hysterically into a handkerchief with Lestrade following behind. Two of his men followed up the stairs. One stumbled.

"Careful!" Lestrade snapped, "Do you want to cause another injury?"

"No – no sir," the yarder replied, steadying himself, "sorry sir,"

"Holmes," Lestrade addressed the detective formally, "I'm afraid I have some bad news,"

"I'm being placed under arrest for doing my job?" Holmes questioned, "I realise my methods are a little unorthodox but –"

"It concerns your sister," Lestrade cut in, "Her cab overturned – we think the wheels were sabotaged." He signalled to his men and they brought the lifeless body of Annabelle Holmes into the room and laid it carefully on a chaise long.

Holmes stared in dumb silence.

"I'm sorry," Lestrade said

"She could have survived," Holmes replied, refusing to accept what he was seeing.

"I'm sorry, Holmes," Lestrade insisted, "We didn't get any response from her. She wasn't breathing."

He looked at the lifeless form on the chaise long before turning his gaze back to the detective.

"She's dead"

…

**Dun, dun, DUUUUUUUUN!!!!!**

**I would like to say a few things;**

**Firstly, THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS!!!! Even if some people are still favouriting/alerting without reviewing... which leads me to my second point; you know who you are, I know who you are, please, please, PLEASE review because it's so nice to get feedback!**

**And the third and final point; I'M SORRY MIRA AND MAPLE!!! *hides* DON'T KILL ME!!!!!**

**Anyhow, my evil plan for world domination is now officially on a roll! Yay! *throws confetti* I hope you like the chapter! And before anyone asks; no it isn't finished and yes I did feel a little bit evil when I wrote this chapter but I wanted a decent cliffy. Sue me. Or not, because you don't know who I am and you can't sue someone for killing off a character – otherwise murder mystery people and J.K Rowling would be very much screwed! XD**

**Click the green button to tell me what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7; You Must be Mistaken

**Disclaimer: see first chapter.**

**I don't think many people liked my killing off Annabelle… don't worry, all will be explained in the next few chapters. It's all part of my plan… Muahahahaha…**

**Read and Review people!**

…

"She can't be," Holmes replied, "She can't die!"

"It's too late for that, Holmes" Lestrade replied, "I'm sorry," he and his men departed, leaving the body of Holmes's sister on the chaise long.

"She's always been there," Holmes murmured, looking at his deceased sister, "Always, whenever I needed her."

"I'm sorry, Holmes," Avara stated, not able to express the sorrow that she felt at the news; Annabelle had always been there for all of them, and now she was gone – and she wasn't coming back.

It was Watson who summed up the grief in one sound; he let out a cry of anguish as he dropped to his knees, sobbing and mourning the loss of one who had always been a friend, and had been a new love.

Holmes turned his back on the body; "I'm going after them."

"Holmes," Avara protested, "it's too dangerous; they'll kill you."

"I don't care,"

"Holmes," Avara was pleading, "Annabelle wouldn't want you to throw away your life like that,"

"Why would she care?" Holmes exploded, "She's gone! She's not coming back!" he punched a wall in frustration, "Why shouldn't I join her?"

"Because you know perfectly well that she would send you back," Watson replied quietly, "with, no doubt, a slap across the face,"

"And she'd probably say 'just because I'm dead doesn't mean you can be,'" Avara added, "and she'd remind you that you have a job to do and a case to solve."

Holmes smiled faintly, "And how would you know?" he asked.

"Because we know her," Avara replied, "you may be her brother by blood, but she was as much a sister to me as to you,"

Holmes picked up his pistol, "And she would also tell us to stop moping about and get on with solving the case," he concluded; "I'm going to have a little word with the Professor – are you coming or staying here?"

"And miss all the fun?" Avara asked as she and Watson picked up pistols of their own, "if you think I'm going to let you blunder into a trap," she hid the weapon in her skirts, "You are sorely mistaken,"

…

"Of all the places to choose," Maple grumbled, "Why do all villains chose the sewers?"

Maple and Katrina had insisted on accompanying the three adults to Moriarty's lair, and Maple had been criticising the stereotypical behaviour of their opponent all the way through the sewer tunnels – as well as his serious lack of hygiene.

"Shh," Holmes ordered from the front, "I think we've found him,"

Rather than a dingy little room, the chamber they approached was large, grand and immaculate.

"Well," Avara commented in a whisper, "that was unexpected,"

"As was this visit," a sadistic voice commented behind the group. They turned to find Professor Moriarty, and several of his ugly henchmen, blocking the corridor behind them.

"Welcome to my home," he greeted them, "do come in – and I must ask that you try not to tread sewage all over my carpet."

Holmes and his friends followed the evil mastermind into the chamber.

"You, young lady," Moriarty gestured to Avara, "Where have I seen your pretty face before?"

"I shot you in the foot," Avara responded.

"Twice," Holmes added.

"Who, may I ask," Moriarty enquired coldly, "was counting?"

Holmes, Watson, Katrina, Maple and Avara raised their hands.

"Well," Moriarty growled, "You can count in prison." He snapped his fingers and the group were dragged away to a different part of the sewer to be imprisoned.

…

_Facts were swirling around all over the place. Annabelle reached toward them, but they remained just beyond her reach, dancing tantalisingly, beckoning her to them._

_She followed, snatching in vain at the dancing shapes before yelling in frustration and sitting on the floor._

"_Come on," she told herself, "you aren't going to give up that easily are you?" she stared at the impossible shapes intently for what felt like hours before noticing that a small selection of them were flickering with a strange green light. She approached them cautiously and tried to put them together. As she did, more started to flicker and glow, then more as she pieced the shapes together into a bigger, much more detailed picture._

"_No…" she whispered as the last piece slotted into place, "It can't be…"_

_She felt a jolt at her navel and everything suddenly shone with a startling white light._

…

"This is my fault," Holmes sighed, "I'm sorry,"

"We agreed to come," Watson reasoned, "It isn't your fault – not entirely,"

"Helpful, Watson," Avara chuckled, "I don't suppose you have a better comment to add?"

Watson was about to reply when a scuffle was heard outside the small chamber in which they were held. A blubbering guard opened the door wide before a masked figure, clad entirely in black, hit him on the head with the hilt of the dagger that had previously been used to force him to unlock the door. The figure beckoned to the five prisoners and gave them each a pistol before leading them silently down the tunnel to the main chamber.

"… We could always try to –"

"Impossible," they heard Moriarty say, "Holmes would never agree."

"We could always threaten his lady companion," another voice, one that Holmes recognised all too well, replied.

"Such a shame that we were forced to dispatch his sister," Moriarty mused, "I believe she would have been far more useful to us. But – what in the name of –"

The black clad figure had stridden out of the hiding place and drawn two swords, crouching low and, even through the mask, glaring at the Professor and his ally.

"You go too far, sir," his voice was deep and husky, but Holmes recognised it, "First the sister of a great man, and then her friend? You have grown too confident,"

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…?" Moriarty enquired.

"My name is none of your business," the man replied, "suffice to say that I am, quite literally, your worst nightmare,"

"A worst nightmare that is currently surrounded by my men?" Moriarty's companion sneered at the newcomer, "You won't last a minute with those swords, not against pistols,"

"We'll see about that, shall we?" the man enquired before leaping gracefully into the air, narrowly avoiding bullets, which he deflected with his swords, before landing behind one of the men and using him as a shield.

"Mr Holmes," he called, "You and your friends will leave immediately."

Moriarty and his companion, realising that Holmes had escaped and obviously coming to the conclusion that he was armed, fled down a passageway, followed by their men.

The black clad figure released his shield, who staggered down the tunnel through which Moriarty had departed.

"A very unusual feat, madam," Holmes commented.

"Madam?" Watson and Avara asked, surprised.

"How many men, Watson," Holmes asked, "have breasts?"

"You would notice that, Holmes," the voice became far more high-pitched than it had been previously, and the figure removed his mask –

To reveal Annabelle Holmes, perfectly unharmed, standing before them.

"You… you're dead," Holmes was, for once, lost for words.

"You must be mistaken, brother," Annabelle replied with her characteristic impish grin, "It takes more than a sabotaged carriage to get rid of me, as you well know."

"But you weren't breathing," Watson insisted, "and you had no pulse, how can you be alive?"

"Perhaps I'm not," Annabelle replied, "Perhaps I'm a figment of my imagination.

"How can you be a figment of your own imagination?" Maple asked.

"Stranger things have happened," Avara commented.

"And do," Annabelle replied, "with alarming regularity," her casual manner immediately vanished and she became serious, "We have a problem. A serious one."

"Which is?" Katrina asked, "Who was the man with Moriarty, anyhow?"

"Lord Coward," Holmes replied, "I've dealt with him before,"

Annabelle chuckled, "how very apt, given the manner of his departure,"

"Indeed," Holmes smirked.

"However," Annabelle began, "He is the least of our worries. We have a far more serious opponent – but it isn't Moriarty,"

"Then who is it?" Holmes asked

"How much do you know about a man named Adam Worth?"

Holmes paled, "What is he up to?"

"I can't explain it here," she began, "I have a cab waiting outside, I'll explain when we get to baker street."

…

"So," Holmes turned to Annabelle, who was now wearing clothes of a more ladylike fashion, "What is Worth up to now?"

"Not his usual tricks of jewel thefts and forged cheques, I'm afraid," Annabelle replied, spreading papers over the table, "It's something far more sinister,"

"Which is?" Watson asked.

Annabelle hesitated before explaining; "He's heading for the King,"

"The King?" Holmes asked, "We don't have a King."

"Not _that_ King, stupid," Maple snorted, understanding immediately to what Annabelle was referring, "The King is a technological thing that the Royal Science Academy was working on."

"They spent the last 3 years trying to perfect it," Annabelle agreed, "They've finally succeeded, but that's where the problem lies,"

"What do you mean?" Watson asked.

"The scientists who were murdered," Holmes pondered, "they were working on the project?"

"And their wives and fiancées had some knowledge of it," Annabelle replied; "although that doesn't explain Mary's death,"

"Yes it does," Avara disagreed, "the seemingly random death of Mary was supposed to throw us off the scent and make us think the deaths were connected to Holmes."

"It makes sense," Holmes agreed, "And it worked."

"Indeed it did," Annabelle replied, "And it bought them some time, just as my death did,"

"It's very unnerving hearing you talk about your death, Annabelle," Holmes commented conversationally, "How did you realise what was going on?"

"The paper," Annabelle replied, "three days before I came to London the King project was all over the front page; I didn't think anything of it at the time, but I had quite a while to think things over while I was… indisposed,"

"How come you managed to stay alive?" Watson asked, "And you weren't breathing, Lestrade said so"

Annabelle raised her eyebrows, "Detective Inspector Lestrade," she replied, "is no doctor."

The group laughed and Annabelle returned to her explanations.

"The King project was designed as the ultimate weapon," Annabelle began, "There's no defence to it because it isn't something you can see."

"What is it?"

"A gas," Avara replied, remembering the article, "a colourless odourless gas designed to cause the inhaler to bleed from the inside."

"Why would they do that?" Watson asked.

"They're scientists," Katrina replied, "Do they need a reason?"

"Apart from stupidity?" Annabelle asked, "No, I suppose not."

"So how are we going to stop Worth?" Watson asked

"Well," Annabelle smiled and looked at her brother; Watson noticed that their eyes had the same mischievous glint in them.

"Oh no…" he groaned, "After everything that's happened, you insist on being stupid?"

"Not stupid," Holmes replied, "it isn't something they would expect."

"What?" Maple, Katrina and Avara asked.

"We," Holmes grinned, "are going to break almost every possible detective law ever written,"

"How?"

"Breaking and entering," Annabelle listed, "theft, forgery and possibly a little shoot out?" she clapped her hands and grinned, "What are we waiting for?"

"Darkness," Holmes replied, "It's easier to break in when fewer people are around."

"Darkness it is," Avara agreed.

"Why am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?" Watson asked, sinking into a chair.

"Because you're the only one who's been out of the business for any length of time," Annabelle responded.

"Insane," he chuckled, "You're all completely bonkers,"

"The best people are," Holmes replied, "Isn't that what father used to say, Annabelle?"

"Indeed it is, Sherlock," Annabelle laughed.

Watson groaned and buried his face in his hands in mock exasperation and the long wait for nightfall began.

…

**Ta-da! See? Told you it was going to be sort of explained! *Dances* one or two more chapters to go and the story will be COMPLETED! Yay! *Victory dance***

**Hope you liked it!**

**And two updates in two days! TAKE THAT MAPLE! Now you HAVE to update Infinite White!**

**Click the green button and give me a review! XD**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Push comes to shove

**Disclaimer: I've said it before.**

**Well, a VERY long wait for nightfall! XD**

**Anyways, study leave, I recently discovered, is the time when you're off school to do **_**studying**_** not story-writing. Damn my mum's ex-teacher habits. XD**

**Anyway, here is the Final chapter… enjoy!**

…

"Is everything ready?"

"It is, sir,"

Adam Worth smiled as his minions aided the Professor in the construction of the ultimate weapon.

"Moriarty," he gestured for the scientist to follow him to a quiet corner, "If anything should happen," he warned, "I expect you to release the gas. Immediately."

"Of course," Moriarty replied, "I presume that by 'anything' you mean –?"

"Holmes," Worth agreed, "And his little bungling band of yarders."

"Understood,"

"Oh really?"

Everyone turned to find Annabelle Holmes leaning in the doorway, her pistol aimed at the control switch on the machine.

"As I understand it," she continued casually, as Avara, Maple, Katrina and Watson blocked of the remaining doors to the room, "You were expecting my brother and Lestrade," she smirked, "I'm sorry to inform you that both of those fine men are in a meeting, so we've had to come instead,"

"I should've known I couldn't trust your men to kill her properly," Worth growled at Moriarty.

"I had been informed that she died in the accident I arranged," Moriarty replied, "But of course, given the incompetence of most henchmen, I wouldn't be surprised if they had failed,"

"Evidently they have," Maple commented, aiming her pistol at Worth's head, "Or she wouldn't be standing here now, would she?"

"I have to say she does have a point," Katrina added, "Unless Holmes has taken to cross-dressing,"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Annabelle replied, "Would you mind telling us what you intend to do with this contraption?"

"This," Worth sneered at Annabelle's apparent lack of knowledge, "Is the King project."

"I thought that was defunct?" Avara enquired, "that's what my cousin said; he was involved in the project."

"Defunct?" Adam Worth was incredulous, "My dear girl; this is the ultimate weapon. It was completed not more than a few weeks ago."

"And declared obsolete," Annabelle countered, "because the colourless, odourless and tasteless gas used has an odour and a taste."

"How do you know about that?" Moriarty was stunned.

"I come from a long line of scientists," Annabelle replied, "Of course I know about that."

"You guys didn't until this morning," Maple added, "Which is why you're planning on setting it off early,"

Adam Worth pointed his gun at Annabelle, "One wrong move," he snarled, "And the lady dies,"

"Well I wouldn't be too sure about that,"

Worth paled when he realised that the man he had employed to set up the machine, upon removing his disguise, was the man he had been hoping to avoid letting near the device to ensure success of his plan.

"You took your time, brother," Annabelle commented, "I presume the gas is conveniently missing?"

"That and the mechanism to release it," Holmes replied, pointing one gun at Worth and the other at Moriarty, "Lestrade is a little… preoccupied, at present, which should give us time to rectify this situation."

"In what way, rectify?" Worth asked, attempting to sound indifferent, even though his eyes darted about like those of a frightened rabbit.

"Firstly," Annabelle replied, "the death of Mary Watson. That was your doing, I believe?"

"What if it was?" Worth snapped.

"You forget, Worth," Annabelle replied coldly, "That she was the wife of one of my closest friends. Also Irene Adler, although I suspect that was Moriarty's doing," she glared at the professor, "And the deaths of several innocent scientists and women,"

"Their deaths were necessary," Moriarty replied tersely.

"They were not," Annabelle replied, "Especially those of the women; they wouldn't know enough about the project to be considered a threat. Besides; you only killed the minor scientists, fools."

"How dare you call me a fool?" Worth roared; there was an almighty bang as he squeezed the trigger.

"No!" Holmes exclaimed.

Worth made a sickening gurgling sound before slumping forward, deceased.

The tip of Watson's gun was smoking.

"That was for Mary," he said quietly. "And for Annabelle,"

Moriarty lunged at Avara, hoping to use her as a shield for his escape, when a second gunshot was fired. The professor roared in agony before collapsing to the ground, clutching his foot.

"Three times," Holmes smirked as he and Annabelle approached the machine and started to take it apart.

"How did you manage to persuade Worth that you were the man they needed?" Watson asked.

"That was the forgery we were talking about," Annabelle replied, "I know a man in Fleet Street who happens to be a master forger in his spare time and owes me a few favours – he made the documents for us and the trap was set."

The machine was lying in pieces on the floor by the time Lestrade and his men arrived.

"Get that man out of my sight," Lestrade ordered; his men grabbed Moriarty roughly by his arms and dragged him out as others hauled the body of Adam Worth away.

"Would you care to explain why we have a dead man and a scientific project in ruins here, Holmes?" the Inspector asked impatiently.

"Adam Worth was about to shoot my sister," Holmes replied, "Watson decided to prevent such an event and promptly shot first."

"Your sister's dead," Lestrade replied, "She died this morning,"

"And yet here I am," Annabelle replied, waving jovially before returning to her examination of the machine component she was holding.

"How – how?" Lestrade was unable to construct a coherent sentence.

"I was unconscious," Annabelle replied, "Not dead."

"I'm sure you will want to interrogate the Professor, Lestrade," Holmes got to his feet, "We shan't keep you from your duty, good evening," with that the detective and his group left, narrowly avoiding the secret service as they came to collect the dismembered device.

…

"Once again the country is saved by the great Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson," Annabelle grinned as they all sat round the table the next morning with cups of tea.

"With the help of Annabelle Holmes, Avara Bailey and the Irregulars," Watson countered; Annabelle laughed.

"Hopefully you'll be able to keep Holmes out of trouble, Annabelle," Avara commented, "We've all heard how he behaves when he doesn't have a case."

"I'm sure I would," Annabelle replied, "If it weren't for the fact that Mycroft insisted that I return home as soon as possible."

"Mr Holmes!" Clarke came bursting into the room.

"Is something wrong?" Avara asked innocently.

"What could possibly be so important that you've come to call on us so early in the morning, Clarke?" Holmes asked in a jovial tone.

Clarke swallowed nervously and fidgeted with his jacket.

"Professor Moriarty has escaped,"

…

**Dun, dun, DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNN! And the preparations for the sequel commence**

**I have to say I really enjoyed writing this; it was really fun, which is part of the reason why I'm going to write a sequel. The other reason is that Holmes and Avara still haven't got together, and I am determined for that to happen in the next story, which begins six months after this one ends. Bear with me I'm working on it.**

**I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**There's only one more thing for you to do… you know what it is…**

**You guessed it! REVIEW!**


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